


Please Keep Me In Mind

by cosmicways



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: (specifically the riddler is trans), Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 08:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11055234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicways/pseuds/cosmicways
Summary: Bruce accidentally invites Edward Nygma, the man formerly known as the Riddler, to a party at his mansion. After a few too many to drink for both of them things get a little out of hand.





	Please Keep Me In Mind

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place in a sort of nebulous combination of canons, most specifically around the 2003 batman adventures comics where the riddler has been reformed for a while now

It was just another party. Not a big deal. Nothing to be nervous about.

Despite everything, Bruce Wayne never could get used to the huge events thrown in his home. He was good at playing off discomfort as the endearing awkwardness of an eccentric billionaire, but it was all genuine. For having so many acquaintances he never got around to developing his social skills much. Bruce was a little busy with _other_ things to exercise his congeniality as of late.

He gripped his champagne glass as he felt his face grow warm. Well-dressed socialites clustered around small tables scattered throughout the foyer. Bruce gulped and strolled through the crowds, smiling and nodding at those who acknowledged him. Sometimes he’d say a few words in greeting, words he barely even heard himself say, but it was so routine he wondered if anyone could hear how practiced and robotic he sounded. If they did no one said anything about it. Just as well, he supposed.

He scanned the crowd for a familiar face and breathed a sigh of relief when he met Alfred’s gaze. With as pleading of a look he could muster, he slightly jerked his head away from the groups. The old man nodded slightly and made his way to the study as Bruce followed.

Releasing what he realized was a huge pent up sigh, Bruce closed the large wooden door behind him.

“Tired already, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked from across the room at a table full of bottles in ice buckets. He had already started pouring more champagne for the other guests. Bruce downed his own glass in one swift movement, grimacing a little at the taste.

“Unfortunately.” He joined Alfred at the table and leaned up against it. Alfred smiled slightly though his eyes didn’t divert from what he was doing.

“If you need me to,” he began, turning towards the younger man, “I can keep our guests occupied for a small time. You can recharge in here, and maybe partake in some drinks. It may help you, _ahem_ , loosen up.” He offered a glass to Bruce.

Bruce gave an empty chuckle in response and took the glass from his butler.

“Thanks, Alfred. I don’t know if it’ll help, but it might at least make the evening go a little faster.” He took a few cursory sips and grimaced again. “Or make it worse. We’ll see.”

Alfred shook his head, laughing softly, and made his way back to the door.

“Take all the time you need, Bruce.” He began to leave, paused, and then looked back again. “But perhaps not _too_ long. Some of these people are difficult for even I to talk to.” Bruce laughed and Alfred closed the door.

He was finally alone.

Bruce fully slumped against the table, releasing yet another sigh. These parties were always so draining. He had no clue how his parents had been able to do it.

He took another sip.

One would think after almost two decades doing this nearly alone he’d get used to all the people, but it was still so taxing emotionally. Mentally. Physically, too—these suits were awful to wear. They always felt too tight, as perfectly tailor fit as they were. Alfred told him all the time that, at least, was all in his head. Stress adds invisible pounds, he claimed. Bruce grinned a little at how ridiculous that was.

Going for another sip, Bruce realized he had somehow finished yet another glass of the awful stuff. How many had he had this evening? He felt fine but somehow couldn’t remember.

He poured himself another glass.

He let himself relax as he thought about other things. More interesting and important things.

Gotham had been pretty quiet as of late. None of the big guys were causing any mischief, at least not for a few weeks. There were barely even any small-time crimes, despite the changing weather.

Bruce wasn’t naive, as silence usually meant something bad was coming, but it wasn’t unwelcome. It felt good to sometimes take a few nights of patrolling to do mostly just that—quietly observing the city, taking in the dirty night air.

He’d much rather be doing that than what he was doing right now. Not that the people here were _worse_ than anyone he fought on the streets of Gotham City at night, but somehow… they weren’t much better. At least he felt more natural doing his other job. In his _other_ suit. Somehow he felt more comfortable facing up against the likes of the Joker than he did the mayor.

He opened his eyes and saw that, somehow, he had downed yet another glass of champagne. How did he manage that? He didn’t even _like_ champagne. Bruce blinked a few times as he finally noticed that he really was starting to feel the effects of the drink.

Not fully drunk yet—being a fairly large man prevented him from being a lightweight—but definitely tipsy. His cheeks felt even warmer than before. He removed his suit jacket and laid it on the table.

From the other room he could hear the front door of the manor slam open and the foyer grow silent. Muffled murmurs slipped into the room through the old wooden door, but Bruce couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. Who could have caused so many people to get so quiet?

He strode across the room and reached for the doorknob when it swung open and Bruce was face to face with Edward Nygma.

“Ah, _there_ you are!” Nygma grinned, clapping his hands together and spinning towards the silent crowd behind him. “Thank you for your assistance, everyone! I have found the, ah, _master_ of the house.”

“E-Edward Nygma?” Feeling his eyes widening, Bruce glanced from the small man in front of him to meet Alfred’s eyes. The old man, mouth open in silent shock, shook his head and shrugged apologetically. The other guests looked equally as confused.

Nygma smirked. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your party, Mr. Wayne,” he announced, turning back to Bruce. “I just wanted to make sure I could say _hello_ to our gracious host before I began socializing for myself. Hello!” He did a tiny, cartoonish wave with his gloved hand and immediately left the doorway, returning to the center of the room. It remained silent, everyone seeming to hold their breath.

Nygma looked around the room in faux confusion. “ _Well?_ ” he began, sounding vaguely annoyed. “Continue partying! As I said, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I _am_ a fellow invited guest, after all!”

The other guests turned to one another in confusion and, after a few more awkward seconds of silence, cautiously returned to their own conversations. Nygma nodded satisfactorily.

Bruce, breaking out of his own stunned paralysis, hurried across the room to meet Alfred.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Bruce whispered, jerking his head towards the man clad in green. He had begun attempting to mingle with the others, though it wasn’t clear whether he was aware of everyone’s visible discomfort with his presence or not.

“W-well,” Alfred stammered, frequently glancing at Nygma, “He… he _is_ technically correct. We did send an invitation to OmniCorp, the company Mr. Nygma works for, but…” He trailed off, meeting Bruce’s gaze. “I hadn’t thought they would actually send the former Riddler to an event like this.” He looked back at Nygma flitting about the room. “He isn’t exactly a fair P.R. representative for the company.”

Bruce rubbed his temples and sighed. This was definitely _not_ helping his anxieties about the evening.

While he had been keeping tabs on his former adversary since he had “reformed” and begun working for more reputable parties, there was no telling what Edward Nygma’s motives for attending this party were.

He had few complaints about the state of Nygma’s mental and emotional health since being officially released from custody. The man, despite many setbacks, _was_ incredibly good at what he did. Being put into an actually productive position seemed to help. As far as Bruce, as Batman, could tell, the former supervillain was doing fairly well.

But Nygma, as a person, as an average citizen, was still a little unbearable to be around. The other attendees seemed to have noticed.

He and Alfred watched as the man awkwardly tried to make small talk with those around him. After a few minutes in each group, he would grow visibly more antsy at everyone’s stilted responses, down whatever drink he had taken from the table, and move on to another group.

Bruce actually felt sort of _bad_ for him. He _really_ did look like he was just trying to socialize. He couldn’t help but mentally compare his own difficulties from earlier to what he and Alfred were witnessing. Nygma hadn’t mastered the art that important socialites needed yet. His notoriety certainly didn’t help, either. Bruce felt another twinge of pity.

Feeling slight relief, Bruce turned back to Alfred. He ran a hand through his black hair. “Well… at least he doesn’t _look_ like he’s planning anything. At least not on purpose.” He smirked despite some lingering discomfort. “I wonder how many people he’s pissed off with his _small talk_ already?”

“Not everyone is as used to his, hm, _manner_ of speaking as you are, Master Bruce,” Alfred replied amusedly. “I almost worry for our other guests.”

Bruce pursed his lips in thought. “Me, too. Maybe I should do something?”

“I’m not entirely sure if you should.” Alfred put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, sounding suddenly sincere. “I know you feel partly responsible for Mr. Nygma’s well-being since his reform, and it _is_ painful to watch, but this particular issue may be something we should just leave for him to deal with.” Seeing Bruce open his mouth to protest, Alfred interrupted. “ _If_ he does something to upset the other party guests, then we will intervene. I am sure that the people here are used to a few awkward conversations at a party.”

Bruce furrowed his brow, eyeing Nygma again. He supposed that Alfred had a point.

“Besides, your evening has been uncomfortable enough. You don’t need to worry yourself with one more thing.” Alfred rubbed Bruce’s shoulder sympathetically, then eyed the spot in slight confusion. “Where did your suit jacket go?” he asked.

“Oh, that. I forgot it in the study. I was starting to feel a little warm, so I took it off.”

“Ah, I see…” Alfred raised an eyebrow in vague surprise, smirking. He dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I may ask, how many glasses did you have after I left you?”

Bruce shook his head in slight embarrassment and laughed sheepishly. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I got a little distracted and forgot to keep track.”

“Don’t have too many, now, Master Bruce,” Alfred jokingly scolded, waggling a finger. “You have a party to continue hosting. Though, it does feel as though _I’m_ doing all of the real hosting.” He gave Bruce a wink.

Bruce laughed, really laughed, for the first time all evening. He put his hand on Alfred’s back. “Sorry, Alfred. I really appreciate it. Thank you. Seriously.” He crossed his arms and again watched Nygma from across the room for a few moments. The two men stood in silence.

“I know I already said it,” Alfred eventually said, “but it really is painful to watch that man try to act…” He paused, looking for the right word. “Pardon my bluntness, but, well,  _normal_.”

Alfred was right. Nygma had seemingly tried to speak to _literally every person_ in the room at least once and still hadn’t given up fully. There was no telling how many drinks he had yet, either. Bruce almost couldn’t watch anymore.

“I…” Bruce began, swallowing a lump of pity growing in his throat. “I’m going to go get my suit jacket from the study. See you later, Alfred.”

Navigating past the socialites, and trying to avoid Nygma’s path, Bruce eventually made it back to the study, leaving the door open. He walked back to the table where he had left his jacket and paused for a few moments after picking it up. He couldn’t stop thinking about the man who was visibly, desperately, trying to prove himself amongst those outside in the foyer.

It was… sad. Really sad. He thumbed the fabric of the jacket in his hand.

He considered whether he should have yet _another_ drink or not. Despite his better judgement, maybe hoping to cover up the strange guilt he felt about Nygma, he decided to pour another glass. It tasted somehow worse than before.

“So you’re here again?”

Bruce jumped nearly a foot in the air at the voice behind him. He whirled around and Edward Nygma was once again standing before him.

How in the world had he not noticed him coming in? And how did he not hear the door closing? Is this how Gordon felt whenever _he_ did that?

Nygma nearly guffawed at Bruce’s reaction, covering his mouth with a gloved hand. “I’m _so_ sorry,” he choked out between laughs, his cheeks bright red, “I didn’t mean to scare you! And,” he continued, wiping his eyes, “I’m _so_ sorry for laughing. I can’t help it! That’s just _so funny!_ ” There was a significant lack of sincerity in his voice.

Bruce felt his cheeks grow a little red despite himself. “Wh… what do you want?”

Nygma shook his head a little lazily, clearing his throat. “Don’t worry, you can carry on with whatever the _hell_ it is you upper crust do when you’re standing around a room by yourself drinking during what I’m assuming is an important dinner party, I’m sure it’s _very_ important and you’re _extremely_ busy, too busy for a man like _me_ , but,” he paused, almost remembering he needed to breathe, “I just wanted to have a few words with you, Bruce Wayne, the _man himself._ ” He reached out a hand.

Bruce blinked. He cautiously took the man’s hand and Nygma shook it a little limply. Nygma looked down at Bruce’s hand, seemingly in awe.

“ _Wow_ , you have a stronger grip than I’d imagined.” Still holding Bruce’s hand, he turned it over, studying it. “Though I suppose even the busy life of a billionaire allows moments for one to work out. Which you definitely do.” His gaze trailed from Bruce’s hand up his arm. “I mean, _look at you_.” Nygma suddenly released Bruce’s hand and clamped his mouth shut, jumping back a little. “Oh _, god,_ ” he said quietly, muffled by his hand. His green eyes were enormous.

Bruce could only stare in dumbstruck silence.

“Uh.”

“Oh, my _god_ , I am… so sorry.” Nygma tugged on the bottom of his green suit jacket. “I… really, really, _really_ , did not mean to say that out loud. Jesus.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, um, _may_ have had a little too much to drink.” He chuckled flatly.

Bruce somehow hadn’t noticed until that moment, but the man was visibly wobbling where he stood. His speech was a little slurred. His face, though not as red as when he had been laughing at Bruce, was incredibly pink.

Edward Nygma, the Riddler, was completely wasted.

How many drinks _did_ he have? He hadn’t even been at the party for all that long.

“Uh,” Bruce finally stuttered. “That’s, um, okay. I’ve been having a few myself.” This wasn’t a lie. He felt the effects of his fifth? sixth? drink, and could feel himself swaying a little, too. Though he definitely wasn’t as visibly drunk as Nygma was. He continued to drink his champagne for emphasis.

Nygma scoffed. “Well, that’s a little reassuring.” He crossed his arms and moved next to Bruce, leaning up against the table. “Bruce Wayne, richest man in Gotham City, is _relatable_.” He put that last word in air quotes. “Bruce Wayne gets _drunk,_ just like the rest of us. Ha ha.”

Bruce could barely sputter a response. What was going on?

“Sorry,” Nygma nearly spat out. “I’m feeling a little bitter, I suppose! This evening is not going the way I intended it to.”

“I’m... sorry?” Bruce wasn’t sure what to do. This was, at least as far as Nygma knew, the first time the two of them had ever met.

Nygma scoffed again. “Thanks.” He sighed, slumping a little more against the table. “I guess I’m just not very good at this sort of... _thing_.” He waved his hand around in the air flippantly. “How obvious was it that I was ruining _every conversation_ I was having out there? That everyone out there doesn’t want to come within _twenty feet_ of me?”

Bruce gulped as Nygma seemed to be looking for an actual response.

“I mean, I didn’t notice,” Bruce lied.

Nygma smirked grimly. “Liar.” He sighed and crossed his arms again. “Anyone with even an inkling of common sense could see I was floundering out there.” He looked off dejectedly, pouting a little.

“I’m really sorry.” Bruce meant it this time. He could relate to what Nygma was going through. “This kind of stuff isn’t easy.” He turned to pour himself another drink.

“Oh, _sure_ ,” Nygma replied sarcastically. “It sure isn’t easy for the rich and famous to be loved by anyone they meet. You’ve got it _so hard_ , Mr. Wayne.” His voice was dripping with malice.

Bruce gulped down more champagne, taking a spot next to Nygma awkwardly. “Sorry?”

Nygma threw his arms up in the air and made an exasperated noise. “Stop _apologizing!_ It’s not like _you_ understand what this is like!” He gripped the edges of the table. “I’ve always been like this. Obnoxious. Hard to talk to. It’s not like this is new information to me.” He loosened his grip a little.

“You know,” he continued quietly, looking down, “I wasn’t supposed to be the one who came tonight. OmniCorp was going to send someone else.” He leaned his head into one of his hands, closing his eyes. “I told them, why send someone nobody’s heard of before when you can send the _Riddler!_ _That’ll_ generate some kind of publicity!” He fiddled a little with his gloves. “I really did want to feel like… one of them tonight. One of those stuffy upper crusts. I didn’t even mean to make such a big entrance… I just... “ He trailed off, pursing his lips for a moment. “I just couldn’t help it, I suppose.”

He scoffed. “It was kind of stupid, now that I’m thinking about it. I’ve never even been to a party like this.” He chuckled darkly, opening his eyes slightly to glance at Bruce. “At least, I’ve never been _invited_. I’ve crashed plenty of these types of things. Back in the old days.”

Bruce remembered. It had never been one of his own, but he could say he’d been to a few of the parties Nygma “crashed.” Though he wasn’t really invited to those either.

“I almost miss those days,” Nygma sighed. “Almost. I can’t say it was less lucrative than what I’ve been doing now. But I also can’t say I miss getting pummeled by the bat every other week.” He narrowed his eyes and grinned a little. “But I do almost miss him… Batman.”

“Oh?” Bruce tried to sound less interested than he actually was.

“Yeah. I must admit it probably sounds… counterintuitive. But I didn’t mind all that attention, to be honest. I don’t miss the _glamour_ of the criminal world, or anything like that. It wasn’t all that glamorous anyways.” He sounded wistful. “But I really, _really_ do miss Batman. More than I probably should admit.”

Bruce felt his chest tighten. _He_ missed this, too. Being around Edward Nygma, the Riddler. Hearing him talk. He didn’t realize until he got to see him again, in this moment.

“I’m rambling.” Nygma sighed. He fully turned to look at Bruce, who was beginning to realize just how close the two men were to one another. “You know… you almost remind me of him.” He considered Bruce’s face for a few moments more. “Of Batman.”

Bruce almost laughed. He took another swig of his drink, feeling his face grow warmer still. “Really?” He could barely hide the smirk growing on his face, which he hoped Nygma wouldn’t question. “How so?”

“You’re both not much for conversation.” He laughed again. Bruce couldn’t stop himself from laughing, too. “Though I guess we _have_ only just met. I’m sorry for… dumping all this on you. This is all a little embarrassing for me.” He put his head in his hands, ruffling his short orange hair a little. “It’s my first _grown-up_ party and I’ve fucked up my first meeting with _the_ Bruce Wayne. Typical.”

Bruce smiled. “It’s really alright. I promise I’ve seen worse.”

“Oh, _really_ ,” Nygma smirked, leaning a little more towards Bruce. “I suppose I’ve also seen worse. Though social wounds hurt a little more than physical ones, sometimes. It’s almost funny.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, looking at one another.

“Am I the only one starting to get a little warm?” Nygma removed his jacket, leaving it on the table behind him, and settled back into his previous position.

For some reason, Bruce averted his eyes a little. He suddenly was aware of how much Nygma had closed the space between them. He felt himself grow more flushed than before.

“Hm…” Bruce’s heart nearly stopped as he felt Nygma put a gloved finger beneath his chin. He instinctively tensed though he couldn’t tell if the other man had noticed. He tightened his grip on the glass in his hand.

“You look a little like him, too.” Nygma thumbed Bruce’s chin. “Batman.” He turned Bruce’s head to face him and laughed. “I mean, just a little. Maybe if you… tilt your head a bit, and squint your eyes.” He did so, grinning. “Though I think you might be more good-looking than he is.” He laughed again, this time a little sheepishly. “Can’t really tell with—” he made a waving motion around his own head with his free hand “— _all that_ , though.”

Bruce could barely breathe. He tried desperately not to meet Nygma’s gaze but couldn’t help it. He was barely a few inches from the other man and could smell the champagne on Nygma’s breath.

He had obviously seen the Riddler many, many times before. But he hadn’t ever really noticed how… soft he looked. His reddish hair was fluffed up, having been rustled earlier. He had always been aware of the difference in size between them but being this close somehow exaggerated it, made it more apparent. Nygma’s eyes, dark purple circles underneath them from an obvious lack of sleep, were piercing. Bruce couldn’t stop staring at his lips.

“Uh… Mr. Wayne?” Nygma nearly whispered.

Before he could say anything else, and before Bruce could even think, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Nygma’s. The smaller man made a noise in surprise but quickly silenced himself.

Before long Bruce could feel Nygma leaning into the kiss. He gradually moved his hand from Bruce’s face to the back of his neck, pulling him in a little more. In response Bruce grabbed his waist and pushed him slightly into the table, closing the small gap between them and pressing his body against Nygma’s.

Bruce Wayne realized, at this point, he was definitely also drunk.

But he didn’t care. His hands moved more desperately, one moving up to pull on Nygma’s tie ever so slightly and the other moving a little further down. Nygma gripped the back of Bruce’s head, fiddling with his thick hair and yanking. He let his lips part just a little and Bruce took full advantage, much hungrier for this than he ever realized.

For just a moment they broke apart from one another, panting.

“ _Wow_.” Nygma was bright red, looking dazed. “I didn’t want to say this earlier but… you’re pretty hot, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce felt himself flush further.

Nygma pushed back into Bruce before either could say anything else. He practically ripped at Bruce’s bow tie, completely loosening it, and before Bruce could do anything he began to undo the buttons on his shirt. Bruce felt an incredible heat with every brush Nygma made against his chest.

Unsure of what to do with his hands, Bruce fully gripped Nygma’s hips once more. He felt himself pushing against Nygma, trying to work around the growing warmth in his groin. Breaking from the work he was doing with Bruce’s shirt, Nygma moved the man’s hands to his chest, then returned to the buttons. Taking the hint, Bruce swiftly started working on the other man’s shirt.

Eventually Nygma was done and Bruce’s shirt was off. Having finished what he was working on before Bruce, he began stroking the man’s bare chest. He could feel the the confusion in Nygma’s movements as he noticed the all of the scars, but he quickly got back into the rhythm. Bruce gasped against Nygma’s mouth, barely able to keep up with what was happening.

After struggling just a little, he finally was able to get Nygma’s shirt open.

Nygma wasn’t binding, as Bruce knew he sometimes did, but was instead wearing a fairly plain green bra. He hesitantly moved his hands to the man’s stomach, softly traveling across it and upwards, unsure of what to do. Taking a second to break their kiss again to scoff slightly, Nygma roughly moved Bruce’s hands to his breasts. Bruce massaged them through his bra. Nygma gasped slightly—oh god, that sound felt better than he ever thought it would—and silenced himself by returning to Bruce’s mouth.

Bruce could feel him grinding up against him. He could barely stop shaking. He allowed himself to reciprocate the movement, pushing his growing hardness against the other man.

Nygma moved from the kiss again, this time to shove Bruce slightly away from the table. He guided the larger man down, taking pauses to leave kisses on his chest, face, lips, everywhere, shifting into a kneeling, then sitting, then lying down position, and then suddenly Bruce was on the ground with Nygma on top, straddling him.

Somehow, along the way, Nygma had lost his pants, and was only in boxer briefs. His shirt was open with the bra underneath and his tie still on. He was still wearing his purple gloves. Meanwhile, Bruce had completely lost his shirt but was still wearing his pants, which were beginning to feel just a little too tight.

Nygma immediately went to work and, bracing himself with both hands against Bruce’s chest, fully began to grind against Bruce.

Trembling, Bruce struggled to keep his breathing even as he followed his companion’s rhythm, feeling his entire body grow warm. He was drenched with sweat. On top of him Nygma was fully losing himself, gasping almost too loudly with every twitch from the man beneath him, the sound of which sent tremors throughout the larger man’s body. Bruce gripped Nygma’s bottom with one hand, pulling him closer in time with their movements, and yanked on his open shirt a little with his other hand.

Quickly their movements became more rapid and desperate as they both got closer to finishing. Nygma came first, shivering and losing his breath.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Nygma whispered hoarsely, panting. “Oh, my _god_.” His face was covered in sweat

Continuing to grind to let Bruce finish, he moved his hands to the man’s crotch. He stroked the bulge in Bruce’s pants slightly in time with the pulses of his own movements. Bruce laid his head back, eyes closed, letting Nygma take over.

With a quiet grunt, Bruce felt his pants grow damp and his hips buckled against Nygma’s as he finished. He laid there for a few seconds, gasping and catching his breath. The man above him gradually slid into a lying position on top of him, then moved to be lying beside him. He was breathing heavily with his hands over his face.

After what must have been a few minutes, Nygma muttered from behind his hands, “Nice to meet you, Bruce Wayne.”

Something about the way his voice sounded felt like a stone being dropped on Bruce’s chest.

He wished, so desperately, to tell Nygma the truth. That this wasn’t just a drunken hookup between two strangers. He had wanted this for so long.

But he couldn’t. At least, not yet.

“I’m, um… sorry,” Bruce began, bluntly, awkwardly. He almost hit himself in the face for how stupid that was.

Nygma let out a deep sigh and turned his head towards Bruce. “No, it’s fine. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy this,” he chuckled, though it sounded a little hollow. “I mean, who else can say he had a secret tryst with billionaire Bruce Wayne in the middle of one his famous parties?” Bruce felt a strange, empty kind of sadness at that sentence.

Detecting some kind of offense from what he had just said, Nygma scoffed a little. “Not that I’m the kind of person to kiss and tell, I suppose. I talk a lot of talk but… I don’t really do this sort of thing. Usually.”

“Neither do I,” Bruce replied flatly. He continued to mentally hit himself. He hadn’t meant to sound so cold, though he wasn’t sure if the other man noticed.

“ _Wow_ , that’s somehow… surprising.” Nygma fully turned to lay on his side. “I guess the rumor mill was wrong about a few things.” He hesitantly reached out to touch Bruce’s shoulder. “I figured people would be lining up at your door to try and seduce the famous _Bruce Wayne_. You’ve definitely got your looks going for you.”

Bruce turned his head towards Nygma, but couldn’t tell what expression he was making. Whatever it was, it made the man retract his hand gently. Another mental punch to the face.

“Sorry,” Nygma said quickly. “Babbling again. I do that too much.” And another one.

“ _No_ , no,” Bruce began, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “It’s really alright. I don’t mind. You’re… fine. You’re completely fine.” He wasn’t sure how else to put it. Nygma remained quiet.

After a few seconds more, Bruce lifted himself up to his elbows. “I suppose… people may be wondering where we are,” he began awkwardly, stiffly. “We should probably get out of here.”

“Yeah.” Nygma quietly rose to his feet, pulled on his pants and buttoned his shirt back up.

Bruce pulled on his own shirt, fixing his tie. They stood for a few moments in silence, holding their jackets and looking at one another.

“Well…” Nygma trailed off, glancing towards the door. He tried fixing his hair a little, though it didn’t do much. “I’ll see you around.”

“You will,” Bruce replied. He hoped he didn’t sound too desperate.

Without another word Nygma wobbled his way out of the room, still visibly drunk, and Bruce heard him talking briefly to someone out in the foyer. He finally heard the sound of the front door closing.

Bruce rubbed his face, running his hand through his hair, and let out a deep sigh.

He was going to invite Nygma to the next party.


End file.
